Blah Blah Blah

I have had a very long day. Most of it was handling random business...running errands. I am exhausted and just gorged myself on pizza. The kitchen is a mess because there are little piles of sorted laundry scattered around like islands in a sea of tile. And there is this awful odor because I go the bright idea that I would attempt to rescue the compromised coffeemaker before buying a new one. Someone told me to try to run vinegar through it to clean it out. Well, I only had cider vinegar because some random recipe for a marinade called for it. So I tried the cider vinegar, and now my house has the pungent odor of burnt cider vinegar. I sprayed air freshener and have been doing laundry so the house smells like flowers and my detergent, but all that is doing is creating the stench of pickled flowers. What do pickled flowers smell like? I have no clue, but I imagine it to smell like the entire ground floor of my house. Blech!

I have opened a new insurance policy and renewed our tags for the vehicles, which is always fun. And I attempted to get a laundry list of items needed for the house in about 5.2 seconds because my husband was parked in a fire lane. That was fun.

The plan now is to curl up on my huge comfy sofa and read, and I can bet I get through about 2 or 3 pages before my eyes start to close involuntarily.

Nothing to Say

I have absolutely nothing to blog about this morning. Except OHMYGODTHECOFFEEMAKERDIED! The last one I had, my child ruined by filling the water chamber with dark cocoa baking powder. He did this in an effort to make hot chocolate at 3 AM while we were sleeping. So hubby, son and I loaded in the car for an emergency trip to the local department store to buy a new one. (I won't mention said department store's name because I hate them with a passion, but they are oh-so-handy in a pinch.) So this is my second coffeemaker this year.

So what is wrong with it? I have no idea. You fill it to the 12-cup mark, put in the go-juice grounds and let it brew. It has an automatic timer that turns off after 2 hours, but you are lucky to get a teaspoon of coffee in that time frame. And it is making these horrible noises. Big gurgles and splashes and hissing like it is posessed by a thousand demons. I. Need. A. New. One.

So here I am on a Sunday morning, looking like a stark-raving-mad lunatic in pajamas. My hair is crazy, and my eyes are half open. And I have no go juice. I could decide I wanted to be handy by taking the back off of the thing and trying to figure out what is wrong. But that requires energy, and I am afraid I will find a Hot Wheel in there or something.

I was up most of the night crying last night. I wonder if there is some You Tube support group I could join? A 12-step program to kick the addiction of watching crap I should not be watching? I equate the You Tube fixation with driving past an accident. You almost HAVE to look. So I watch the stuff and cry, and sob, and sniffle. Then I can't sleep because there are a million thoughts going through my head. None of them positive, I might add. And I have come up with a grievance for the military wives who post this stuff: why do you all look like you haven't shed a tear in a decade? Seriously, their makeup is not smudged, not a puffy eye in the place, and they are sending their husbands off to WAR! Everyone is smiling and posing for pictures. WTF?!? So I posed the question on a message board. And I got replies like "They were just holding it in until they got home." or "They are just being strong." Huh? Strong? I am one tough broad. But I am sitting here watching the videos and bawling like a baby. There is no "be strong" or "hold it all in" for me. I am going to embarrass the living crap out of my husband when that day comes. It won't be by choice. There will be no choice to it. It will be a completely involuntary response to Uncle Sam taking my husband away from me for over a year. Sorry, but it cannot be helped. And Evan? Might as well leave Evan home, because I will already be a basket case, but then if you add to the mix my son pleading for his Daddy, it will all be over. We won't even be able to get home after that.

So just being tough? I don't think so. There has to be more to it than that. Maybe Jody is coming over as soon as she gets home, and she is excited. Hell, I don't know. I'm most likely wrong, and I will toughen up by then too, but I doubt it. You never know until you are in that situation, I guess.

What's the Difference?

Last night a friend and I were discussing the differences in the Army and the Marine Corps that may give John difficulty when adjusting. We could not help but laugh at some of them. A few could get John into trouble. The Marine Corps does not salute indoors, and the Army does. He is going to have to recondition himself on that one. I am willing to bet he will piss off a few officers before it sinks in and becomes second nature.

But the uniforms....no boot bands and bloused trouser legs, no cover block, and no rolled sleeves. I can see John now trying to do this with his ACU's.

Anyone who has never had the pleasure of knowing a Marine will not appreciate the comedy in all of this. They are purists, and view the Corps as the representation of all that is elite, disciplined. Name tags on uniforms? No way. They are "professionals". Patches on combat uniforms? What for? And what in the hell is up with that beret? I can almost see the look of disdain on John's face when he is told to wear it.

I am saying none of this to insult the Army. But the Marine Corps is a big, bad Boys' Club with their own set of standards. I swear they must check the testosterone levels of all recruits before allowing them to attempt to enlist. And my husband is a member. Some friends have equated the military to high school athletics. The Air Force is the Freshman team, the Army is Junior Varsity, and the Marine Corps is, of course, Varsity. "Where does this leave the Navy?", I asked.

"They are the cheerleaders!"

So what is my civilian take on all of this? Quite simply, we have different branches of the Armed Forces for a reason. Each does their job. Each is composed of our American brothers and sisters fighting so we do not have to. Each suffers the loss of the other. They are all brothers.

It's just that the Corps has a far-better swagger.

Losing Steam?

Lately John has been more and more difficult to motivate. No PT. Or very rarely. For the most part he sits on the sofa, watching movies. He is pretty much eating whatever he wants, and this worries me. I am by no means a shining example of physical fitness or proper nutrition for weight loss. But I am also not the one aiming for reentry to the military. I am afraid. I am afriad that he will e shipped to Iraq or Afghanistan, into a combat situation, and will not have the physical bearing to be able to keep up. He has gained a portion of the weight back that he had initially lost. I'm not quite sure how to get him motivated. Quite honestly, I should not have to. He should be doing this on his own.

Proud of My Kid

My husband and I, along with our neighbors, went to our local community park with the kids the other day. It was just a little outing...no big deal. The kids played on the playground while we adults watched on. We noticed that there seemed to be quite a few special needs children present. No big deal either. We figured they were on an outing. Evan has never been around children with disabilities. And let's face it--children can be cruel whether by intention or just by asking impolite questions with brutal honesty toward someone different from them. Well, I look over and Evan was sitting with this boy who appeared to be not much taller than him. I had noticed the boy walking around aimlessly by himself earlier. I immediately went over to them, afraid my son would be rude and hurt the boy's feelings. I could not have been more wrong about my son. He spent a good portion of his time there playing with the boy, leading him by the hand through the playground, having fun. A friend of mine, upon hearing this story, said he reflected on us as parents, that we have raised Evan well. I was so proud to have a child who will reach out to someone very different from him, to focus on what they have in common instead of the differences.

Finally, I Saw It!

I have wanted to see the film Ears Open, Eyeballs Click since I knew it existed. What in the hell is it? It is a documentary filmed during Marine Corps boot camp that really shows what it is like for the recruits. Watching it made me so proud that my husband did it. He made it through that! Of course John insists that boot camp on Parris Island is much tougher than San Diego, and of course the film was filmed in San Diego. There were parts that made me laugh. But there were also parts where I got misty eyed. I was somewhat disappointed about the Parris Island thing. I wanted a closer look at what it was like for my husband.

Slightly Tweaked

Why is it that John has worked on this reenlistment issue for so long, and now that the time is most likely here, I am flaking out? As I am typing this, an Army recruiter is on the way to the house to pick up some final paperwork for John's waiver, do a final taping, and have John sign his contract. This is it. Now or never. I am scared to death.